Hidden Memories
by RishiGenki
Summary: There is always one locked door in England's house, at the very end of one of the hallways. Sealand had always wondered about what England could possibly be hiding. No pairings, brotherly fluff. Oneshot


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There is always one locked door in England's house, at the very end of one of the long hallways in the lonely house.

Sealand had always been curious about that one door; after all, what could that jerk England possibly have to hide? The blond boy had always wondered, ever since Sweden started to drop him off every weekend at England's house in a vain attempt to get the two brothers to reconnect - or, at the very least, to try and get Sealand to believe that his older brother wasn't all that bad. Usually these weekends consisted of England trying to smile, cook something horrible, and trying not to lose his temper - sometimes all three at the same time - only to be set off by the slightest things.

One of these things was when Sealand tried to find out what exactly was behind that locked door.

"I'm telling you, for the last time, stay away from that blasted door!"

England scolded Sealand every time he found the child fiddling with the locks, but Sealand was so used to the yelling that he paid no mind. Sealand honestly didn't know why his Papa bothered to send him here - there was no use in trying to reconcile the two.

He hated that jerk England, and he always had - at least, as far as he could remember, which, he told himself was pretty far. And England had always hated him. Why the jerk even let him in this big old house, Sealand would never know.

The door to England's study closed quietly behind Sealand, as the boy was doing his best not to make any noise. He smiled with pride, as he had once again avoided getting sucked into another one of England's cooking disasters. Then, suddenly realizing that he had never been in England's study, he looked up, arching his head so he could get a good look at the mysterious room.

He was surprised to find the place a mess. Papers were strew across the floor, as an open window was perched above the desk and a gentle breeze was blowing into the currently abandoned study. Three of the walls were taken up by bookshelves, stacked high and proud with novels and textbooks from thoughout the ages - Sealand could spot a handful of Sherlock Holmes books carefully gathered at the end of one of the shelves, right next to the desk where England no doubt had always either been consumed with work or lost in one of his boring old books.

Sealand picked out one of the books from the shelves and blew on the cover, clearing off dust that had begun to gather. He opened the cover to the first page and began to read, mildly interested, but soon found the worn out novel hard to read and boring. He casually pushed the book back into its place and continued to look around, curiousity continuing to grow.

Just as things were getting boring, and just as Sealand was about to turn and leave, a shot of sunlight beamed into the room and landed on a small bronze key that had been previously hidden from Sealand's eyes under the piles of papers beneath the desk. It was peeking out, gleaming in pride, and Sealand couldn't help himself. He grabbed the key and shoved it into his pocket in a hurry, as he could hear England calling his name, no doubt ready to feed him whatever poison he had created. Sealand jumped over the papers that were still strewn all over the floor, wrenching the door open and letting it slam behind him as he bolted out of the room,.

Sealand had been fiddling with the key for quite a few hours when it dawned on him that this key might hold the answer to the secrets of the locked room.

The child had been scolded at dinner - calling England's meal a "witches brew" had set the former empire's temper once again - and had been sent straight to the guest room where he spent the majority of his weekends at England's house. At first, Sealand had sulked, then he had pouted and whined to himself, and finally he had taken the key out of his pocket and began fiddling with it, delighting in the smooth, shiny surface, and it's nice color. It felt familiar somehow, and as he contemplated it had hit him - it was in the same shape as the lock in the mysterious room.

Sealand eased himself out of the bed, careful not to make any noise on the old, creaking wooden floors, and opened the door to the guest room, peeking out and looking down each end of the hallway. England was no where in sight, just as Sealand was hoping. If England wasn't there, he was no doubt in his study, blissfully unaware that it had been previously disturbed that evening.

He stepped out of the guest room and muffled the closing sound as he eased the door shut. Sealand tiptoed through the hallways, holding his breath as he quickened his pace and began to run at a brisk, silent pace. He closed his eyes for a split second as he passed the closed door to the study, and he could head England humming to himself through the closed wooden door.

When he reached the end of the hall, Sealand nearly burst into a fit of laughter. He had won, and not been caught. Triumphantly, he turned to the locked door and inserted the key, his smile widening as he felt the door click. The door swung open, and whatever ideas Sealand had conjured about what exactly was behind the door - a porn room, or perhaps a dungeon - were blown away.

Sunlight from the setting sun illuminated him a deep orange, and what he found in that illuminating light was a child's room, one that hadn't been used for a long time. The floor was a plush white, carpet covering each square inch of the moderatly large room. The ceiling was a bright yellow, and the walls were painted a light blue, almost fluffy-looking white splotches dabbed along each of them. There was a small bed - big enough for a toddler, or perhaps someone a bit smaller then himself - was pushed into one corner, a nightstand with a small lamp sitting besides it. The bottom of the lamp was shaped like a boat. A dresser rested at the opposite wall from the bed.

Sealand was astounded. His breath was caught in his throat, and as he looked from one end of the room to the other in a flurry, he felt strangely sad, yet happy, as if he was meeting an old friend for the first time in decades that he hadn't recognized. Without knowing it, tears began to form in his blue eyes, and Sealand covered his mouth in a mixture of shock and surprise.

He shut his eyes tightly and turned away, feeling as if he was out of place and needed to get away, only to feel something larger then himsef - and all too familiar - in his way of escaping the room. His stomach twisted into knots. With fear taking control, Sealand looked up, expecting to find England's face a deep red, or perhaps purple, in anger, but instead found soft green eyes studying him.

"How did you get in here?"

Sealand blinked, as he wasn't expecting England's voice to be so calm, so eerily quiet, quite constrasting to how England normally talked with him. He could feel his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he looked down again, his chest being heavily weighed down by his heart. He hesitantly dug into his pocket and brought out the key, pushing it into England's hands.

"I-I snuck in." he said, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to keep the blush from getting any larger, and failing on both terms.

England's face did not change. He did not get angry - nor did he show any type of emotion, other then the sad look that almost haunted his eyes now. The former pirate licked his lips as he spoke again.

"Do you remember this place?"

Sealand swallowed, bowing his head down even furthur. He stuck his thumbnail into his mouth and bit down, chewing on the digit as England continued to stare down at him. The older blond took Sealand's hand out of his mouth, and Sealand was shocked at how gentle he was. England squeezed Sealand's hand affectionatly as he continued to look Sealand in the eyes.

"Do you remember?"

The boy did not move. He slightly nodded his head, the blush now spreading to his ears. "A-a little. L-like it was...something I knew a long time ago."

England looked away then, his eyes scanning over the now darkening room, as the sunlight was fading. Slowly, he began to speak. "It was your room. From when you used to...live here."

Sealand's eyes widened, and he looked up to England with curiosity, brows furrowed. England smiled weakly as he continued,

"From when I used to take care of you. It was quite a long time ago, and I doubt that you would remember much of it. During the war, you lived here. You were born during that time, and I took you in..." England paused, swallowing what was no doubt a lump in his throat, and subsequently lowered his head in what almost looked like shame. "Do you...remember when you lived here?" he asked again, kneeling down so that he could make eye contact with the child. He brushed away Sealand's blond bangs, pressing their foreheads together.

The haunting memories - the grasps of things that Sealand could only remember in faint feelings before that moment - began to flow into him, taking a firm grip on his heart and not letting go. Fuzzy memories of long nights, of pattering down the hallways into England's study and climbing into his lap, of falling asleep in strong arms, began to fill Sealand's mind, and in no time at all he was overflowing with the emotions of the past.

It was there. The memory of a caring older brother - that had always reamained dormant in Sealand's heart - was flowing though him.

England had no doubt caught the expression on Sealand's face. Sighing, he squeezed Sealand's shoulders tightly, and Sealand realized that he was shaking. The former empire then took one hand and brushed it along Sealand's cheek, letting it trace down until his index finger rested on the bottom of the child's chin. He smiled weakly again.

"I didn't want you to see this room. That's why I always keep it locked...it hurts to remember, doesn't it? You were probably content with hating me, all this time, thinking that I didn't care about you in the slightest. I'm sorry, Peter."

Sealand's eyes snapped when he heard his name called. He looked up - almost fearful - and opened his mouth, only to realize that no noise would come out. He closed his mouth and tried again, but to no avail. England chuckled sadly at the child's peril, taking his hand away from Sealand's chin and allowing it to rest on his trembling shoulder again.

Without hesitation, he pulled the boy into a hug. Sealand did not resist England's safe, warm arms pulling him foward, nor did he resist the tears that began to overflow. With a wail, he gripped England's shirt, head bobbing down with each sob, each memory that he had forgotten in his years of isolation on his fort. The memories of happy days, where England never raised his voice, and everything he cooked seemed to taste like the best dessert in the entire world; when England would sing him soft lullibaies as the nights grew long and terrifying.

"...I'm sorry, lad. I never meant to hurt you this much." England murmered as Sealand cried into his chest, taking hold of the back of Sealand's head firmly, never faultering as the strong words took their effect. "Honest, I really had no idea...that any of this would happen. I've been saving this room...in case you ever wanted to come back. If you ever forgave me. I wanted it, just in case..."

The rest of England's words were lost. Sealand was crying too hard to understand whatever came out of his mouth next, and despite knowing this, England continued to talk quietly, until it was far past dark and Sealand was far too tired to cry any more. Finally, the brothers were surrounded by silence, and neither spoke.

After a moment, England stood up, his hand never leaving Sealand's shoulder. He reached over with his other hand and flicked on the light switch, allowing the room to once again be flooded with light. Sealand looked around as England let go of his shoulder. "Go ahead, Peter." he said, smiling faintly. "From now on, you sleep in here, alright?"

Sealand hesitantly walked deeper into the room, the plush rug feeling soft and familiar as he wandered towards the bed. He climbed in, and was surprised - and a bit happy, he had to admit - that he fit there perfectly. He snuggled under the covers and rested his head on the pillow, staring hard at the boat-shaped lamp. A smile began to form on his face as he looked back at England. "...hey, jer...England."

"What is it?"

He pointed at the lamp. "I remember this. I wanted it really badly, and you wouldn't buy it. Then when we came home, I found it here...you bought it while I wasn't looking, didn' you? I had thought it was magic."

The grin on England's face broadened as he quickly srode over to Sealand's bed, ruffling his hair as he leaned down to kiss the child's forehead. "Ah, you've always been a clever lad." he said proudly. "I knew you would remember this, at least."

"Course," Sealand yawned, then began to point in a different direction with his finger, half asleep. "An' you an' France painted the walls...France pick'd out th' colors, and you both fought th' whole time...'n over there, that's where I tried to hide th' puppy y'wouldn't let me keep...'n over there..."

England laughed softly. "You're starting to sound like Berwald. Come on, we can talk about it in the morning," he said, straightening up as he began to walk out of the room, adjusting his collar. He looked back as he reached the doorway, his hand hovering over the light switch. "Good night, Peter."

"...night."

The light was switched off and Sealand's eyelids became even heavier, but he still tried to recall each memory he could, like a child's game where the winner's prize was simply satisfaction. Each recovered memory led to recovered feelings, and Sealand wondered if perhaps that was what Sweden had wanted that entire time.

/end 


End file.
